


Even the Darkest Night

by leopardchic79



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leopardchic79/pseuds/leopardchic79
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arguing is routine for them.  It doesn't mean it hurts any less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even the Darkest Night

**Author's Note:**

> Jumping on the modern AU college bandwagon... (It's a great bandwagon to jump onto!)

The last person he expected to find on his doorstep at one a.m. in the middle of a rainstorm was Enjolras.  Especially an Enjolras who looked so…distressed.

“Is he here?”  His voice was hoarse, his eyes full of a hope he didn’t seem to trust.

It took Combeferre a moment to figure out what it was he was asking…but there was really only one reason Enjolras would be here in the middle of the night looking so out of sorts.

He shook his head and reached out to grasp his friend’s upper arm and pull him inside.  “Grantaire isn’t here.”  He didn’t miss the way Enjolras’ face fell.

Something terrible must have happened between them.  Enjolras seemed to have given up; he let Combeferre lead him into the kitchen and into a chair.  He took his drenched jacket off of him and gave him a towel.  Enjolras sat still and didn’t protest Combeferre’s mother-henning.  He stared straight ahead at nothing, blinking slowly when some water fell from his hair and into his eyes.  At least…Combeferre was pretty sure it was water.  Best friend or no, the idea of dealing with a crying Enjolras was daunting.

He sat down next to him, took a chance and reached out to cover Enjolras’ hand with his own.  When Enjolras didn’t pull his hand away, Combeferre frowned.  

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked softly.  It was implied that he didn’t have to.  They had been friends since they were eight years old; they knew each other inside and out.

It took a few minutes, but eventually Enjolras pulled his hand away and pushed it through his wet, unruly curls.  He still hadn’t met Combeferre’s eyes since he had first opened his door.  “I did something…awful.”

Combeferre stifled a sigh.  He wasn’t surprised…this was almost always the way that Enjolras and Grantaire’s fights started.  Enjolras was very good with words.  Mostly, he used them eloquently with purpose and to inspire, but he could use them to cut just as easily.  And with Grantaire, he seemed to excel at wounding especially well.

Initially, Combeferre hadn’t been very supportive of his best friend’s relationship with their group’s resident drunkard.  He – like everyone else – had always known of Grantaire’s feelings for Enjolras.  And like everyone else he had watched Grantaire get shot down time and time again…never receiving so much as a smile from Enjolras for the longest time.  (The first time he _had_ earned himself a smile left Grantaire stunned first and then looking like a kid on Christmas morning who had just received his most wished-for gift.)  Combeferre had chastised him on occasion for his cruelty, but he knew that Enjolras never fully understood how or why his words were so damaging.  But eventually their arguments turned to bickering and then to bantering, and then suddenly Enjolras was smiling at Grantaire nearly all of the time.

And because he never did anything halfway, Combeferre had watched Enjolras fall hard and fast for Grantaire after that.  He had worried that his friend’s first foray into a romantic relationship would end badly – given Enjolras and Grantaire’s history of not getting along – so he hadn’t exactly warmed to it at first.  But despite their problems, Grantaire turned out to be surprisingly good for Enjolras.  

However, it didn’t mean that they had ceased to argue, and when they fought it was always ugly and hurtful.

“He thinks I cheated on him,” Enjolras said, his voice low and sad.

Combeferre scoffed and shook his head.  If there was one thing Enjolras was, it was loyal.  And Enjolras loved Grantaire so much that the idea of him even looking at anyone else was ludicrous.  Of course, if anyone would find a way to doubt, it would be Grantaire.  Despite everything, on some level he was still waiting for Enjolras to figure out that he had made a mistake in choosing him and that he could do better.

Being a psychology major had its downfalls; Combeferre spent a good deal of time silently psychoanalyzing his friends.

“Why would he think that?”

Enjolras didn’t answer right away.  He ran his thumbnail back and forth over a groove in the table and chewed on his bottom lip for a few moments.

Combeferre suddenly found himself more concerned.  Normally, after one of their fights, Enjolras spent a good while defending his position and claiming that he didn’t understand any of Grantaire’s motivations for why he did or said what he did.  This time though, he was being surprisingly silent; it was troubling.

“Enjolras?”

He looked up then and Combeferre was surprised at the amount of guilt and pain he saw in his friend’s blue eyes.  “Because I let him think that I had,” he answered.  Shocked, Combeferre didn’t know what to say, so he waited for Enjolras to tell him.  It wasn’t easy; it sounded as if the words were being dragged out of him.

~*~*~

It had been a good month and a half since the last time they had fought.  Sure, they bickered over something or other almost daily, but they hadn’t had a mean, cutting, regretful argument in a while.  That should have been a good thing.  But for them…it just seemed to leave things more and more strained.  Although they loved one another fiercely and deeply, they were very different people.  And despite their closeness, sometimes they were both very bad at communicating in a way that didn’t involve anger and insults. 

To an extent it was a simple and predictable routine.  Enjolras would steadily become more and more irritated by Grantaire’s drinking, Grantaire’s snide comments and overall cynicism – which, for Grantaire’s part, all tended to increase the longer they went without an argument.  Eventually, Enjolras would lose his temper and say something incredibly hurtful.  Grantaire would take it as justification for his self-loathing and his not-so-hidden belief that Enjolras deserved better.  He’d slink away for a few hours…to drink and/or to look for sympathy from one of their mutual friends.  And then, once Enjolras’ anger had melted into guilt, he’d find him, apologize and all would be well between them again.  For a while.

Very rarely did the routine change.

This time was shaping up to be no different; the bickering was starting to turn ugly and any day now it would probably blow up.  Enjolras had to wonder if their friends – a group so tight knit they were usually as intrusive as family – had noticed as they had all been sort of scarce lately.

Enjolras had told Grantaire repeatedly that he needed the entire weekend to study for midterms and, most importantly, to finish a group project for his political science class.  Usually, he hated working on group projects – especially for classes in his major about which he was intensely passionate – but this time he had a partner who actually contributed and who shared most if not all of his beliefs.

Grantaire, as usual, took Enjolras’ request as a suggestion and spent most of Friday night drunk-texting him.  Enjolras tried to ignore him but that usually made things worse, so he took a quick break from the group project to call and remind him that he was busy and that it was important.  Although hard to hear over the background noise of whatever bar he was in, Grantaire promised not to disturb him again.  They both knew he wouldn’t keep that promise.

Saturday brought more of the same.  More texts – still probably drunk ones despite the early afternoon hour – that Enjolras ignored after one, brief response. 

_ I told you I was busy. Stop texting me. _

Grantaire started calling next and Enjolras didn’t answer a single one.  After the third call in five minutes, he silenced his phone and tried his best to ignore the way it kept lighting up now and again.  It wasn’t easy.  And if he hadn’t been concentrating on his work, he would have either answered it and told Grantaire how absolutely fucking annoying he was being or thrown it against a wall.

Thankfully they managed to finish the project by early evening and Enjolras was just seeing his class partner out of his apartment as Grantaire came staggering up the sidewalk to his door.

Enjolras narrowed his eyes and spun around without greeting him, but he left the door open knowing Grantaire would follow him inside.  If they were going to fight, better that they do it inside and not in the front of the apartment building.  He waited in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest…seething.

True to form, Grantaire stumbled into the kitchen behind him and collapsed into one of the chairs at the small table.  His hair was sticking out at all angles, he needed to shave and there were circles under his eyes.  None of which surprised Enjolras.  He ran his hands over his face a few times before looking up at Enjolras with an unreadable expression.  

“Who was that?” he asked, voice sounding scratchy.  Enjolras wondered if he had been smoking last night; he hated it when Grantaire smelled like smoke.

“Jeremy,” he answered in a clipped voice.

“Who’s Jeremy?  Your study partner?”

Enjolras shrugged.  “Sure.”

Grantaire’s glare slipped a notch.  “But you only study at the library when you’re doing a group project.”

That was mostly true.  Enjolras didn’t like inviting classmates he was forced to partner with for projects to his own apartment to work.  Normally that was because said partners weren’t much help or didn’t contribute what he considered to be anything helpful.  But he liked Jeremy well enough and he was one of the few students whom working with wasn’t a chore.

“So we did it here instead.  What’s the problem?”  He was being intentionally vague.  

“Was he here on Friday night too?”

Enjolras nodded, glancing down at the floor for a moment and then back up to Grantaire’s gaze.  He felt a pinprick of guilt for what he was doing.  His lover may be hungover – or still drunk – but he was far from stupid.  He would figure out what Enjolras was trying to imply.

Grantaire’s eyes studied him intently for a few moments, searching his face for an answer.  And when Enjolras’ expression didn’t change, Grantaire’s gaze went from angry to pleading in seconds.  He stood up abruptly and stumbled back a few steps until his back hit the wall, eyes downcast.  He shook his head a few times and tugged on the sleeve of his hoodie with slender, shaking fingers.

When he looked up again his eyes were full of heartbreak.

Enjolras swallowed hard and let his cold exterior drop.  He couldn’t do this.  “Grantaire--”

“No, stop,” he interjected quickly.  He shook his head again and ran a hand through his dark curls, messing them up further.  “It’s fine.  I get it.  It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Enjolras shook his head and stepped closer.  “No, it’s not--”

Grantaire laughed – a harsh, ugly sound.  “It’s not like that, I know.  It just happened, right, _chérie_?”  His voice sounded brittle.

“No, it wasn’t--”

This time he was cut off by the shrill ringing of his cell phone, and they both glanced down to the table where it sat.  It displayed Jeremy’s name and smiling face.

“Grantaire, wait…”

His eyes were bright with tears now.  He shook his head furiously and stepped back, knocking over a kitchen chair in the process and snatching his arm away when Enjolras reached for him.  He was quick when he wanted to be and was turned away and hurrying out the door by the time Enjolras managed to get around the kitchen chair and into the hallway to follow him.  He must have ran from there, because as Enjolras stepped outside he saw him on the street corner just a block away getting onto a bus.

Enjolras spun around quickly and went back inside for his phone.  He ignored the missed call from Jeremy – he suddenly despised his study partner for his poor timing – and picked Grantaire’s name out of his contacts to call.  He wasn’t surprised when it went to voicemail after a few rings, but he had been hoping for an answer nonetheless.

“Nothing happened with Jeremy, I swear it.  Just…please call me.  Let me explain.”

He leaned forward on his elbows and pressed his hands to his forehead, still gripping his phone.  He jumped when it rang a few seconds later, scowling when he saw it was Jeremy calling again and not the person he wanted to talk to.  He swiped his finger across the screen angrily and pressed it to his ear.

“Yes?” he answered, clipped, impatient.  It was a very brief conversation, consisting solely of Jeremy asking if he had left a book there and Enjolras telling him he’d look before hanging up.  He should have felt a little badly for being so rude; none of this was Jeremy’s fault…it was in fact solely Enjolras’ fault.  He knew that, but he didn’t have time to worry about it now.

He felt terrible for what he’d done to Grantaire.  He knew better than anyone how deeply Grantaire’s self-loathing went.  He knew that deep down Grantaire was always waiting for Enjolras to decide that he had made a mistake in being in a relationship with him.  A part of him was always waiting for Enjolras to leave.  To purposely play into that fear was cruel.  And it was so very different from saying something regretful during the heat of an argument.  He had done this deliberately.

Feeling desperate, he called Grantaire again – this time it went straight to voicemail.  “R, I’m sorry.  Please call me back.”

He followed it up with a text.  _Please listen to my voicemails & call me.  I’m sorry. _

And then, _I love you._

He waited an hour, doing nothing more than sitting at the table and staring at the phone, willing it to ring.  He checked and re-checked to make sure it was charged & that the ringer was on & that he had it turned up loudly enough.  The only message he received – which made his heart jump – was from Marius asking if he could copy his notes from their last sociology lecture.

He started to pace after the hour was up, walking through most of his small apartment – phone in hand – over and over again and willing his phone to ring.  Twenty minutes after that, he sat down on the couch and stared angrily at his phone.  His head was a mess of emotions that he didn’t quite know how to deal with so anger won out because that one was _easy_. 

He called Grantaire again.  “Call me back damn it.  I didn’t do anything with Jeremy.  If you want to be mad at me for lying, fine, but call me back so I can tell you the fucking truth.”

It went on like this for another couple of hours.  He had no idea how many voicemails he left or texts that he sent.  He was furious at Grantaire for ignoring him and furious at himself for what he had done.  But the longer he went without hearing from him, the faster his anger started to dissolve into sorrow.  And worry.

He was laying on his side on the couch now, knees curled up to his chest, fingers still gripped tightly around his phone.  Squeezing his eyes shut, he called again, desperately hoping that _this time_ Grantaire would answer.  He didn’t.

“I’m so sorry, R.  Please, please call me back.  I didn’t cheat on you…I would never cheat on you.  I don’t know how to be with anyone else but you.  I love you so much, and I just…please…if you don’t want to talk to me, just text me and let me know you’re somewhere safe.  Please Grantaire.”  His voice was shaky this time.

He knew exactly what kind of trouble Grantaire could get himself into if he was desperate or upset enough.  And Enjolras knew him well enough to know that he was both of those things right now.

Refusing to let himself start to think of all the things that could have happened to Grantaire, he sat up again and took a deep breath.  This time he dialed Courfeyrac.

“Hello Enjolras!”  Courfeyrac’s voice was cheerful, which made Enjolras’ heart sink.  If Grantaire were there, he would’ve told him what had happened and Courfeyrac wouldn’t be greeting him quite so nicely.  Still…he had to ask.

“Is Grantaire there?”

A pause.  He hadn’t done a very good job of keeping the desperate worry out of his voice.

“No,” he answered.  “Should I be worried?”

Enjolras wanted to cry.  “I don’t know…maybe?”  His voice broke on the last word.

“Fuck, Enjolras.  What happened?”

He took a couple of deep breaths and cleared his throat.  “We fought.  I…said some things I shouldn’t have and he left.  He hasn’t been answering his phone…”  He couldn’t tell his friend the whole story right now.  He deserved whatever scorn Courfeyrac would have heaped on him for it, but he didn’t know if he could take it at the moment.

“I’ll call him,” Courfeyrac replied, his voice a little harder now.  Their friends never took sides when they fought...but Enjolras knew that his guilt was palpable in the tone of his voice if not from the words themselves.

“If he doesn’t want to talk to me, he doesn’t have to,” Enjolras said, voice small and quiet.  “Just…let me know that he’s okay?  Please?”

“I will.”

He hung up before Enjolras could thank him.

While he waited, he texted each of their friends individually…asking them each to just let him  know if they had heard from Grantaire and if he was all right.  He didn’t bother to explain himself, figuring that they would all realize that he and Grantaire had argued.  Their routine was well known by their friends.

Within minutes he had replies from everyone except Combeferre.  No one had seen or heard from Grantaire.

His heart sank and he let his phone clatter to the coffee table in front of him.  He dropped his face into his hands and tried to breathe deeply, squeezing his eyes shut over threatening tears.

When his phone rang next he was almost afraid to answer it.  But it was Courfeyrac and Enjolras let himself hope just a little bit.

“Did you find him?”

“No.”

Feeling frantic now, Enjolras couldn’t respond.

“Goddamn it Enjolras, what the hell happened?  He won’t answer me and I have like seventeen texts from everyone else asking if I know if he’s okay.”  His voice was full of both anger and worry.  “Look, I’m going to call around to some places and I’ll let you know if I find him.”  By places, Enjolras knew he meant bars, clubs and the like.  Courfeyrac had better knowledge of those sorts of places than Enjolras ever had.  “Have you heard from Combeferre?  He’s the only one who _hasn’t_ texted or called me.”

Enjolras drew in a shaky breath.  He wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of instructions but as he agreed with Courfeyrac’s plan of action, he didn’t object.  “No…he’s the only one who hasn’t texted me back either.  I’m…I’m going to go over there.  Maybe Grantaire is with him.”  They both knew that was unlikely seeing as Grantaire and Combeferre never really hung out unless they were with everyone else.  But Enjolras had to know for sure, and if Grantaire wasn’t there then at least he wouldn’t have to wait for news by himself.

“I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thank you.”

~*~*~

“I didn’t answer my phone because I turned it off so I could study without an interruption.”  Combeferre paused for a moment.  “What were you thinking?”  He asked the words as gently as possible but he couldn’t keep all of the exasperation out of his voice.

“I wasn’t,” Enjolras answered.  He sounded wrecked and Combeferre was torn between berating him for being so cruel and hugging him because he knew he was so worried.  “I was angry with him and I…I wanted to hurt him and argue with him and….” he trailed off and dropped his face into his hands.  He drew in a couple of shaky breaths and Combeferre reached out to squeeze his shoulder.  When he looked up again his eyes were wet and his voice was small.  “Comb…what if he’s hurt…what if something terrible happened to him…what if--”

“Stop,” he interrupted.  “You’re going to drive yourself crazy.”

“I need to find him.”

Combeferre shook his head.  “He’s not going to respond to any of your calls right now.  Rightly so.”

Enjolras winced.  “I know…but he’s not responding to anyone else’s either.”

“Don’t you think he knows that they’d all be calling on your behalf?”

“Yes, but…he has to know they’re worried too.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes.  “I never said he was perfect.”

Enjolras chewed on his lower lip and ran a hand through his messy curls.  He looked helpless – an odd look on him.  It was similar to the way he had looked the night he’d come to see Combeferre to tell him that he thought he might be in love with Grantaire…and that he didn’t know what to do next.  He kept turning his phone over and over in his hand, eyes drawn to it like a magnet, hoping for it to ring.

Combeferre sighed and took pity on his best friend.  He took his own phone out of his jeans’ pocket and turned it back on.  He ignored the couple messages that popped up and picked Grantaire’s name out of his contacts to call.

He stood up and walked to the other side of his kitchen to look out of the window; he could feel Enjolras’ eyes boring into the back of his head.  Grantaire picked up on the fourth ring.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

There was a pause.  Combeferre couldn’t hear anything in the background that sounded too worrisome, just the muffled sounds of a sitcom.  Grantaire sighed and answered more honestly.  “No.  But if you’re asking if I’m lying dead in a ditch somewhere the answer is no.”

“Is that something I should worry about happening in the next few hours?”

“No.”  He sighed.  “I’m with Eponine.”

Combeferre relaxed.  Grantaire’s best friend from high school went to college one small town over from their own.  She had only ever hung out with their group of friends once or twice, which is probably why no one had thought to call her this evening.  But if he was with Eponine, he was indeed safe and Combeferre knew he could put everyone’s immediate worry to rest.  Enjolras would have to deal with the worry of what he had done to their relationship on his own.

“I have sixteen voicemails, Combeferre.  All but two are from him.”  His voice was hard, but Combeferre could pick out the hurt and surprisingly, the _worry_ , he heard there.  He knew what Grantaire was trying to say.

“I’ll let everyone know you’re okay.  I’ll let _him_ know.”

Grantaire let out a shaky breath that dissolved into a sob.  Combeferre felt his heart ache with sympathy.  “Thanks.”  He hung up in a hurry.

Combeferre shot off a quick text to all of their friends to let them know he’d spoken with Grantaire and that he was safe.  Only after that did he turn around to look at his best friend and he found himself immediately faced with desperate, hopeful blue eyes.  He hadn’t let Enjolras see that he was calling Grantaire, but he knew that he had figured it out from their brief conversation.

“He’s okay?” Enjolras asked, his voice no more than a whisper.

Combeferre nodded.  “He’s with Eponine.”

Enjolras slumped back in his seat and let out a shaky sigh of relief.  He scrubbed his hand over his face and looked at Combeferre curiously when he sat down again.

“Why did he answer you and no one else?  I just mean...he has closer friends.  All of whom have probably called him tonight.”

Combeferre sighed and smiled a little.  “He agreed that if I ever called in a situation like this, he'd pick up and let me know that he was okay.”

Enjolras frowned.  “Why would he agree to that?”

Combeferre refrained from sighing or rolling his eyes but he did glare at his best friend.  “Because he loves you!  And he knows exactly how much you worry.”

“But this is my fault.”

“It sure is!” Combeferre reached out and gripped his friend’s hand tightly.  “But it doesn't matter, don't you see?  He's upset and angry with you, yes, and he knows you deserve to worry...but there’s a line.  He won't let you panic too much.  Even if you do deserve it.”  He punctuated his words with a quick squeeze of Enjolras’ hand, letting him know that he didn’t approve of what he’d done but that he would be here for him.

Enjolras looked at him for a long time, his eyes a mess of emotions.  Finally, he sighed and pulled his hand away and looked down at the table again, fingers tracing random patterns over the wood.  “I really fucked up, didn't I?”

“You did,” he replied gently.

“Do you think...” he trailed off, words stuck in his throat.

“Do I think what?”

“Do you think he'll...leave me?” he finally managed to ask, voice small and sad.

“Not in a million years.”

Enjolras looked up sharply.  Combeferre smiled at him, but he was entirely serious.  He stood up, squeezed Enjolras’ shoulder and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.  “I'll put some blankets on the couch for you.”

Enjolras didn't answer or even move from where he sat, but Combeferre knew that he'd heard him.  He wouldn't be surprised to find him sitting in this same spot come morning, still staring at the table and wondering what to do next.

~*~*~

Grantaire didn’t come back for two days.

Enjolras’ friends reassured him that he was okay and that he just needed space, but it didn’t really make him feel any better.  He went to his classes and managed to concentrate enough to take his midterms but it wasn’t easy.  When he was at home, he sat on the couch or lay in his bed and just stared at nothing, wishing Grantaire would come back, hoping that he hadn’t ruined their relationship permanently.  

He sat up quickly when he heard the door opening, heart in his throat as he waited and hoped that it wasn’t just Combeferre coming over to check on him.

It wasn’t.

Suddenly, Grantaire stood in the doorway to the small living room, leaning against the wall and looking at Enjolras with an unreadable expression in his gray eyes.

Enjolras swallowed hard and met his gaze bravely, afraid that if he looked away or even blinked, Grantaire might disappear.  He wanted to stand up and cross the room and gather him into his arms.  But Grantaire’s arms were crossed over his chest and his eyes were still difficult to read, and Enjolras was afraid he might change his mind and leave again at any moment.  He chewed nervously on his bottom lip and waited.

“You look terrible,” Grantaire said, finally breaking the silence.

Enjolras couldn’t stop the hysterical giggle that left his lips and he nodded in agreement, chest loosening immensely when he saw his eyes lighten a little.  Grantaire raised an eyebrow curiously, a small smile playing at the edge of his lips.  He uncrossed his arms and Enjolras saw his fingers shake as he pushed them swiftly through his hair to rub against his neck.  It made Enjolras wonder if he was nervous or…sober.

Unable to resist any longer, he stood up and crossed the room in a few strides until he stood in front of the other man.  He met Grantaire’s gaze bravely, his own full of sorrow and regret.  Grantaire moved first, hand reaching up to gently cup his cheek, fingers dragging roughly over stubble and skin.  Enjolras couldn’t resist after that and he reached out with both arms to pull Grantaire against him and hold him tightly.

They fit together like magnets, but their breathing was ragged, their hands a little shaky as they touched and tugged and reconnected.

“I’m so sorry, R,” he breathed into Grantaire’s ear, voice breaking a little over the words.  He repeated it over and over until Grantaire pulled back slightly, framed Enjolras’ face in his hands and kissed him.

After a fight their kisses were usually hungry and messy and eager to lead into something more.  This was entirely different…soft, tender and full of love.  Enjolras felt his heart ache sharply and when he finally pulled away from the kiss it was with a small sob and another whispered apology.  Grantaire leaned in and shut his eyes, pressing their foreheads together and exhaling with a shaky breath against his lips.

For once, he didn’t try to refute Enjolras’ apologies or offer up a countered one of his own.  Grantaire was always eager to share blame – or take most of it on himself – after an argument, even when it was something they had both contributed to.  But this time was different and they both knew that.

Enjolras held onto him tightly when Grantaire buried his face against his neck and dropped his arms to wrap around Enjolras’ lower back.  He squeezed his eyes shut when he felt Grantaire tremble against him.

“Please don’t do that again.”

His words were muffled and soft against Enjolras’ skin, but he heard them loud and clear.  The pain and desperation in Grantaire’s voice went right to his heart.  Enjolras shook his head and pulled him even closer.

“I won’t,” he promised.  “Never again.”

Eventually they made their way over to the couch, never really leaving their embrace as they ended up lying down with their legs tangled, arms around each other, foreheads pressed together.  They fell asleep quickly, having gone without it for most of the past two days and nights.

~*~*~

When they woke up the next morning, neither of them were very surprised to find that they were now covered with a blanket, the smell of pancakes and coffee was permeating the air and the low hum of their friends’ chatter was drifting in from the kitchen.

It was, in a way, just another part of Enjolras and Grantaire’s relationship routine.  Their friends were never far off after an argument, eager to offer what comfort and company they could.

Grantaire yawned and pushed his fingers through Enjolras’ messy curls, watching him with a small smile.  “How long do you think we can pretend to be asleep before they come in here to wake us up?”

Enjolras smiled and pushed himself a little closer, fingers sliding beneath the hem of Grantaire’s t-shirt to brush against warm skin.  Grantaire shivered and kissed him with a smile, nails brushing lightly against his scalp as he continued carding his fingers through his golden hair.  Enjolras sighed in contentment and kissed him back lazily, unable to help from smiling against his lips again and again.

He was so relieved that he hadn’t lost this.

They broke apart after a loud outburst from Courfeyrac which was quickly shushed by several other voices.  Grantaire hid his giggle against Enjolras’ neck and pressed a quick kiss to his warm skin.

Enjolras pulled back to look into his eyes again, hand resting against his neck, thumb moving back and forth absently against his jaw.  Their eyes locked and Enjolras drew in a shaky breath.

“I love you,” he said softly.  “Please know that.”

“I _do_ , Enjolras.”  Grantaire’s fingers tightened slightly in his hair as he whispered the words, something dark passing through his eyes for just a quick moment.  

Enjolras knew that look and knew that no matter what, there was always going to be a small part of Grantaire that doubted.  It had nothing to do with this particular fight – although he knew it certainly hadn’t helped.  It was something that Enjolras wasn’t sure he would ever be able to win over no matter what he did.

But he also knew better than to dwell on it – both of them knew that – especially when Grantaire was already smiling again, leaning in for another, deeper kiss and tightening their embrace.

“I love you too,” he murmured, eyes dancing with happiness now.

Enjolras returned his words with a smile, pushed closer for another kiss and pulled the blanket over their heads…blocking out everything but the two of them for just a little while longer.  
  
fin 


End file.
